Whispers
by yeaka
Summary: Rodolphus and Rabastan chat up Regulus in the Slytherin common room. (Drabble. RLRLRB, slash.)


Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or any of its contents, and I'm not making any money off this.

Warnings: Slash, dirty talk, dub-con, implied incest, public, humil, MWPP/Marauder's Era.

A/N: Part of a Regulus series on my LJ and Ao3.

* * *

Regulus sees them approaching out the corner of his eyes but doesn't dare move or say anything. The couches around the fireplace are otherwise unoccupied, but the Slytherin common room is by no means empty.

That doesn't stop Rodolphus and Rabastan Lestrange from strolling over to sit on either side of him, entirely too close and with their arms around the back of the couch and his shoulders. Regulus can feel the familiar prickle of anticipation running down his spine, but he keeps his eyes on his book, stubbornly pretending to read.

Rabastan flicks his wand to cast the usual spells – the bubble of silence ripples quickly around them. Rodolphus casually leans that extra bit too close, breath ghosting over Regulus' ear as he purrs, "All alone again, Black? Didn't we tell you what would happen if we caught you again?"

Regulus' breath hitches, but he's stubbornly silent. He doesn't move at all – doesn't let the rest of the room know what's going on. In the far corner Crabbe glances over at their cluster, but when nothing happens he looks away again. Regulus doesn't bother to mention that he's hardly alone – the room is full of students, even if he doesn't have any friends to hide behind. When he first came to Hogwarts he thought he'd have his brother for that – Sirius always protected him at home.

But now he's in Slytherin and Sirius is in Gryffindor, and Sirius wouldn't protect him in the middle of the Great Hall, let alone a den of _snakes._ Rodolphus' long fingers brush a stray strand of dark hair behind Regulus' ear, and he continues, "Are you doing this on purpose, perhaps? We knew the scandalous reputation your brother has, but we had no idea you were just as bad..." Rodolphus' hand doesn't rub Regulus' thigh like it would if they were in private, but the words are enough to make Regulus shiver. He distantly wonder how long he'll have to ignore them for them to go away, though he knows the night is young.

"I bet he wants it," Rabastan hisses from the other side, equally as too close. "Look at the way he trembles for it, the way his eyes dart to us, the way he licks his lips... he wants it badly, he just doesn't know how to say it..." Rabastan's on the side by the fireplace. When he slips his hand subtly under Regulus' robes Regulus' book blocks the sight from any other prying eyes; Rabastan's fingers drift along Regulus' outer thigh. "I see him looking at us, brother... I bet he wishes he were as close to his, and since he isn't, he wants a piece of what we have... wants a little taste..."

"Of course he wants it," Rodolphus croons. "How could he resist you, Rabastan? He loves being sandwiched between us – loves feeling our hard bodies on either side, rutting into him and grinding him raw. I'm sure he thinks of letting those wards down every night and begging us to slip inside..."

"I bet he thinks of us when he touches himself," Rabastan sighs. "He must be tired of thinking of his own brother by now; he knows it'll never happen. But us... he can have us, if he asks right, if he begs in just the right way... we'd be happy to take him, even though he's been a little minx..." Rabastan leans back into the couch, biting Regulus' ear out of sight. Regulus turns a shaky glare to him, composure a failing façade. Rabastan smirks lazily back, his fingers still stroking Regulus through his pants.

They still talk about him like he isn't there. When Regulus finally glances at Rodolphus the older Slytherin is looking right through him, eyeing Rabastan with a hunger that makes Regulus shift uncomfortably. But it's him they torture. It's him they torment, whispering huskily, "Of course we'd take him. We'd have to punish him, of course, for running with such cowardice. ...Perhaps we'd bend him over our beds, strip his pretty legs and spank his taut ass, make him writhe and squirm like the whore we all know he is..."

"Or we could tie him up," Rabastan counters, eyes glinting. "Put him in all our gear... wouldn't he look nice with a big, fat gag in his mouth, or a spreader bar between his pale legs...?"

"We should string him up like a horse," Rodolphus suddenly growls. "Put a bit in his mouth and bind his hands and feet, and march him around the room with reins... maybe if he behaved we'd even let him lick sugar out of our hands..."

Suddenly Rabastan squeeze Regulus' thigh with his sharp nails, and it's hard enough for Regulus to gasp in pain. Rabastan practically moans beside him, "And we'd ride him, of course, all around the room. We'd take turns, and teach him the right route to crawl in, and when he finished we'd pull him into our laps, and he could ride us..."

"Mm, both at the same time," Rodolphus adds. He's on the end of the couch that faces the rest of the room – he can't tough Regulus without being seen. But his voice, masked by the spells, is enough of a caress to send a chill through Regulus' body, and Rabastan is torture enough for both of them. "Or maybe he'd rather be a dog. ...Didn't you always want a dog when you were little, Rabastan? I bet Black's perfect at fetch..." Without warning, Rodolphus wrenches the book from Regulus' hand, tossing it quickly across the common room. Regulus schools his shocked features into a glare, as though he's just being bullied as usual; it's nothing out of place in Slytherin; it's nothing to look at. Only a few students look up, and when nothing spectacular is happening they all resume whatever it is they're doing. Regulus resumes being thoroughly uneasy. He tries to sneer at his captors. He tries to show his disgust in every pore of his body, rather than the fear and tiny, infinitesimal shred of _curiosity.._

When Regulus spends too much time glowering at Rodolphus, Rabastan claws into his leg, forcing him to look back around as effectively as if his chin were grabbed. "Yes, he'd be such a good dog... he'd look so pretty in a collar and nothing else... we could feed him that way – have him lick our cum from a bowl on the floor, and perhaps we'd fuck him that way, leashed to the bed and on all fours..."

"We'd fuck him every way," Rodolphus growls. "We'd bend him into every position, force him into every game, fuck his pretty little brains out until he screamed and begged for more, like the hungry little whore he knows that he is..."

Groaning from the back of this throat, Rabastan purrs, "Ooh, why do we even wait? We should fuck him right here in the common room, why do we even care who sees?"

_That's_ what gets Regulus. He's been sitting still, trying to take it. He's done with running. He's trying to ignore them, wait them out, stare off into the distance blankly until they finish. But the promise of public humiliation burns through his veins like poison, widening his eyes and contorting all his muscles. As soon as the full-body cringe comes over him he stifles it again – he won't react, he _won't._ But they still _see_ it, like they see everything.

They see the way he creeps through the night air to follow Rodolphus, glowing under the pale light of just the stars, slipping into the lake in nothing. They see the way his eyes follow Rabastan's ass around the Great Hall, tight and firm, and the way the curve of his spine bends over his plate. They see the way he closes his curtains too quickly at night, the way he casts every spell he's ever heard of, and sometime he feels like they see _through_ it. Do they see him, he wonders, arching through the night, touching himself to horrid images of twisting snakes, too many pale limbs and curtains of dark hair? He knows they see the jealousy in his eyes when they hold hands between lessons – the secret whispers and the knowing looks. The way Sirius used to look at him. Rodolphus looks just like Sirius, sometimes, black waves tumbling over his broad shoulders, the light never reaching his dark eyes... he barks like Sirius and he tortures Regulus just like Sirius does, and the way he hold Rabastan makes Regulus' blood run _cold..._

He belongs in Slytherin. He knows it. He hates every single person in his House, and he _belongs_ and it drives him _mad._Is this why Black's go mad? He lies awake at night wondering, picturing things he shouldn't, moaning when he shouldn't, sweaty and wrecked and _filthy._

He doesn't remember closing his eyes. But when he opens them he knows he doesn't mask the pain fast enough. Rodolphus wraps a strong arm around his shoulders, cooing darkly, "Don't you worry, Black. You'll like it when we're through."

"You love it," Rabastan corrects, boys a deep, lilting purr. "And you won't care how we do it."

Rodolphus leans in close enough to whisper, "You just don't want to be _alone._"


End file.
